


What can't big guns solve?

by Anonymous



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Developing Friendships, End of the World, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:09:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The end of the world is less scary than Bright and Clef working together.***AU in which The Foundation is planning the extermination of humankind like in SCP5000, and the doctors actually give a shit this time.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42
Collections: Anonymous





	1. A long line at the coffee machine can make you question your existence

**Author's Note:**

> heres EVEN MORE TRASH i didnt want to post onto my main account! :D  
> I don’t know about the doctors very well cuz this is just me making my own canon and doing my own shit cuz it's SCP what’s a canon*. If you don’t like it, please don’t fill it with hate, however if you have things to tell me about SCP, its canon, constructive criticism, and what I’m doing wrong please please please comment!
> 
> *Yes, I know there are about 30 canons. I just want to do my own thing sorry if it's trash

It wasn’t his problem, really. If anything, he was beyond giddy that the world will explode so maybe he could finally die and not have to give a shit anymore.

Who gives a shit that the world was gonna blow up into a big anomalous, gory mess. Nobody cares once they’re dead, and that’s exactly what they’re gonna be. Dead. Gloriously dead.

_ Shit, maybe Clef was right about me, I haven’t been out in so long I'm getting wacky. Next I'll start to think normal dogs all talk like Kain, _ Bright thought, before sneering at the fact that Clef can be right about anything.  _ The guy lies so much that I’m starting to believe he’s eating up his own bullshit. That narcissistic prick. _

He scowled and realized he’s not writing anything.  _ Why would I write shit if the world is gonna explode? Might as well pack my shit and watch it with my own eyes. _

He swiveled in his chair once. Twice. Sensually. Lazily. Faster. Faster. Faster.

He swiveled the fastest he could and pushed himself off of his desk and towards the door, hoping the angular momentum would keep him going long enough until he reached it. It doesn’t and he very quickly and very painfully falls to the ground, his body sliding across the floor, right in front of the door.

_ There’s more than one way to get results,  _ he thought, smirking boyishly. That was always his main philosophy when it came to his job, and it constantly delivered.

The door opened and clonked Bright’s head. “Dr. Bright, the O5s requested a meeting with you in half an hour.”

“Elizabeth what the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, is there a problem, Dr. Bright?” She looked at him with blase eyes, having to deal with his childishness daily.

“Yeah there is, you fucking hit my head!”

“I see. I suggest next time you use something else as a door stopper.”

Bright huffed and got up. “You are so lucky I can’t fire you.”

“Actually, it’s your lucky day. I’m resigning.”

Bright stopped midway from getting up. “Say that again?”

“I’m resigning.”

They looked each other in the eyes, each testing the other. Bright can tell she was serious.

“What happened to being loyal to The Foundation? Or carting me around all the time to make sure I don’t make a break for it?”

“That changed with the new mission we were assigned. I realized that I would rather allocate my limited time elsewhere and chose to resign since The Foundation has provided a limited time excuse-free pass to resign.” Elizabeth looked away and started to quickly pack her most essential items.

“... Your dad’s not gonna be mad about that?”

“He supported my decision.”

“Yeah, if the only way out was either suicide or resignation, I think I’d also like my daughter to take resignation.” Bright scoffed. She didn’t answer, but continued to pack her items.

The last item she had was a small desk ornament of a crab, and she looked at it for a long moment before pocketting it into her bag. She turned back to him.

“Goodbye, Dr. Bright.” Before he could get a word out, she turned and headed towards the door.

She opened it, but stopped for a bit, slightly turning her head around. “You might not believe the same, but it’s been a pleasure working with you.” And with that, she ran off.

He paused for a while. “Same, bitch.” He whispered silently to himself.

_ Why didn’t I do that? Just up and leave? _

He needed to get out of there before he thinks too hard on things that don’t matter. Looking at the clock, he estimates he has about 20 minutes to spare before his meeting with the Council of Pedophiles.

_ I mean, they must be pedos right? They’re all over 70 or some shit and probably jerk off to Kondraki’s ki -- What the fuck? _

Bright looked at the scene before him and physically couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

There was a line in the staircase leading to the cafeteria.

He entered the cafeteria, seeing what the fuss was about.  _ Did they release new food for the retired folk? Surely they can’t be that nice. Are they finally spending all their money on something since the world’s gonna go to shit anyway? _

There, he saw the longest string of people lined up in front of the Coffee Machine, with dead corpses all over the tables.

“Hey,” Bright tapped a person in line, “What’s going on?”

“Dr. Bright!” The person peeped. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you have my spot in line. I’ve been waiting for two hours now and --”

“I don’t care about that! I was wondering what’s going on? Why’s everybody in line?”

“Oh well, you know,” the agent put his hand to his neck, “we’ll all be retiring, might as well get our favorite drinks before we go, right?”

“What’s with the dead agents? Did people really fight over this?”

“Oh no, they didn’t want to die to the trauma that will happen, so, why not get a taste of what Heaven tastes like, you know? Hahaha.”

Bright stared down the nervous agent who sweated heavily. 

“I really can’t let you take this spot --”

“You know there are hundreds of SCPs willing to do the same thing right? There are countless of drugs to put you into a peaceful death, and everybody’s lined up here for this shitty coffee machine.”

The agent shrugged and stared down at his feet. Bright suddenly became exasperated and rolled his eyes, his meal having been ruined by a long line for a cup of fruit punch. 

For something else to spoil his mood. A lot of yellow wet floor signs to indicate that a Euclid class object was being removed from its cell.

_ Thankfully I have the security clearance to go around that shit and avoid it. Did they really cut personnel that much that they had to use Wet Floor signs for this? _

He stepped right on through and… wait.

_ Are they really taking pictures of SCP 096’s face? _

He closed his eyes immediately and started bolting down the hall. Behind him he can hear the SCP crying, and he knew it was inevitable that the poor D-Classes were going to be mauled to death.

He reached his room once he heard the screaming begin. He closed his door and took a while to just lean against it, thinking things over.

He looked over the room, mostly unchanged except for small artifacts here and there that he would have never noticed until it was gone. He had no one to hold him responsible or to prevent him from leaving. He could do whatever he wanted. He could make SCPs battle each other for shits and giggles and shoot Clef through the head and join some weird cult to die. He could sit his ass down and get back to work.

Or.

_ Shut up. _

Or.

_ Shut up! _ Bright huffed and slid down to the floor. He thought about all the possibilities but none of them seemed right. 

In his racing mind, he somehow noticed that his windows were open. Then he realized that sunlight was beaming in. He squinted a little, and saw the small specks of dust in the air. Then he realized his body had allergies and sneezed.

_ God I hate this shit _ , he thought and looked at the clock. Three minutes left.

_ Maybe I can battle with Clef. That would sure be fun, mano a mano duel to the death. I always wondered which one of us would win it out in the end. _

Two minutes left.

_ Maybe I can see how many people I can kill in the Coffee Line. I bet so much money I can kill at least half of the people there, even if they have guns. I’ll break the Coffee Machine out of spite too. _

One minute left.

_ Maybe I can go on an SCP rampage. See what they all do and how they all interact. That might be fun. Maybe I can switch bodies with one. _

Zero minutes left.

His meeting was starting.

He was supposed to be there.

_ Or,  _ something called out in his brain, a sickly and infectious cognitohazard he thought he lost years ago.  _ Or. _

His phone rang. He was supposed to be at this meeting now.

_ Or,  _ he thinks to himself,  _ let’s see how far I get by being the hero now, hmm? _


	2. choices made with the brain are the dumbest ones of them all

Gears never showed emotions. It was not vital to the job, and it was a waste of time and energy. He’s not a junior researcher anymore, he’s not fazed enough by anomalies to show fear on his face, and he’s not mentally unstable like Bright or Clef, so he doesn’t go around chainsawing people in half for sport.

But damn, did this next mission make him want to.

“Gears,” O5-[] called out through the video feed, “I know you understand why this is necessary. We need you as the lead researcher for this. With your clear head and extensive understanding of SCPs, you are the most fit for the job.”

“Isn’t Dr. Bright supposed to be here?”

A shadow fell over O5-[]’s eyes. “Let’s not focus on the unimportant things. We need you for Project PNEUMA and we’re willing to promote you to an O5 at your young age because of it. Humanity is suffering, Gears.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I resign.”

“Dr. Gears --”

“Son.” Everybody went quiet. Even being as emotionally dulled as he was, Gears’ brain still stopped when he heard his father’s voice.

“This is an opportunity. And what did we say about opportunities? We always take them. We are saving lives, Charles. We’re saving memories. Wouldn’t you have liked to have only your memories from before your mother died? Before you saw the horrors of The Foundation? I know you’re loyal, and I understand we are testing that loyalty to the extreme. You always valued the greater good like we have and now it is the most critical time to make sacrifices for the greater good.”

O5-[] paused for a second. “Charles, you have to lead Project PNEUMA.”

He let the information sink in for a few seconds. As always, his father was right. It doesn’t matter what he wants, as long as it’s for the greater good. Even if he has to purposefully release all of these Keter Class anomalies, even if he has to burden all the suffering.

He’s made his choice.

“Yes, Father, I will --”

“Here’s all your shitty homework! You sure owe me big time. If you give me another week’s worth of  _ your  _ work, I’ll get 682 to chomp off your skull. I’ve got connections now, don’t try me!”

Iceberg dumped the binders worth of paperwork on the desk and looked very confused before realizing that, oh shit, holy fucking shit, Gears is in a conference with people who were in charge of his promotion. He made a nervous peace sign and muttered “put in a good word for me” before quickly leaving the room.

Gears froze. The O5 Council paused at the interruption.

“Is that… your assistant?”

“… Yes.”

“Interesting. I thought he would have turned out more like you.”

A rare flash of ire lit inside of Gears. “Well, you certainly wanted him too, didn’t you?”

Even more silence. Someone coughed.

O5-[] started to speak again. “Charles, about the proposition.”

“The proposition.”

“I suppose… if you lead it, that would mean your assistant gets the promotion he always vied for.”

“Yes.” Somehow, the meeting didn’t feel the same. Iceberg’s sudden presence interrupted the fear he felt when he was pressured into this and now he’s left with unasked and unanswerable questions. Why didn’t his father lead Project PNEUMA? Is his life so important now that humanity is going extinct? 

“Yes, you accept?”

“Yes, I will think about it. I will submit my official response by tonight.”

“Charles, you can’t possibly think that --”

“Good day, Father. I need to eat lunch.”

Click.

Iceberg immediately bursted into the room, stars in his eyes.

“I’m really getting a promotion?”

Gears looked him over again. He never realized how… expressive Iceberg was. He knew he was more expressive than him, which wasn’t saying much, but he’s never seen how happy he can be, only how snarky. 

“Gears?”

“Yes, Dr. Iceberg?” He responds out of instinct.

“You alright? Your cogs loose up there, Osmondodondo? Rusted?”

It was an inside joke that started two years into their partnership. He’s heard the name COG come out of one too many people and started questioning about it every day. During the containment of SCP-106, Iceberg got a near mortal wound to his abdomen and couldn’t be saved because the cold temperature of his body would respond negatively to IV drips or blood transplants. That dramatic man wanted to know his name before he died, and so Gears granted him his last wish (foolish of him). That persistent man lived, and every day he would come up with at least 3 different guesses for his middle name, even if Gears said that even if he guessed it right he wouldn’t admit it.

_ It took about 4 months until he stopped making passes at Break, but only because she got promoted. His persistency makes him somewhat daft. _

Still, it made Gears incredibly fond. “I am perfectly fine, Dr. Iceberg.”

“You probably didn’t have your coffee. I would get you some, but there’s an insanely long line at the coffee machine for some reason. SCP-294’s probably broken, or should I say, neutralized.”

Gears looked Iceberg straight in the eyes, face emotionless. Iceberg was temporarily startled, but maintained eye contact, realizing that this was something serious.

“Dr. Iceberg, do you have any idea what is going on right now?”

Iceberg gave a sharp snort. “Well I would if you didn’t dump your week’s worth of paperwork on me. You never do that, so what’s your deal?”

“Dr. Iceberg.” Gears said, trying to anchor him back to the conversation at hand.

“Dr. Gears.” He replied in a sing-songy voice purely out of instinct.

“Julian.”

Iceberg widened his eyes and stood stock still. This was territory never breached before, and with one word Iceberg has never been more afraid of what Gears had to say.

“The O5 Council is planning on exterminating humanity.”

“What? Isn’t the point of The Foundation to  _ keep _ them from exterminating humanity? Why would they spend so much to contain Keter class objects?”

“It is what they have decided. I have no choice in the matter.”

It made no sense in Iceberg’s mind but he nodded. Logic didn’t matter if Gears was this serious about it.

“The promotion they were talking about for you is if I accept to be the head of the project. Which wouldn’t matter because everybody but our research team would be dead. I would suggest you forget about the promotion and spend your time elsewhere.”

Iceberg nodded. Gears seemed to have finished his speech as he took one of the binders that Iceberg had slammed on his desk and began to look through it.

A few minutes passed. Iceberg shifted. “So… are you gonna take it?”

“Pardon?”

“The position. Proposition. Whatever.”

Gears looked at him, and Iceberg seemed to be staring right at some deep part of him he thought he lost long ago. A deep part of him Iceberg seemed to have, much to his envy.

“Do you want me to?”

“Do you want to?”

_ When he’s serious, his jaw clenches more than usual, his muscles slightly tense up. His head lowers a bit, and his eyes pierce through skin. _

Happy Iceberg and Serious Iceberg, all in one day. Gears wondered if he himself would ever be able to show those emotions again.

He’s taking a small step by being honest. “I don’t know.”

Iceberg doesn’t say anything.

“If you want the promotion that badly, then I will --”

“No, don’t do this for my fucking promotion! I, you,” Iceberg shoved a hand through his hair, “I lived my whole life to get this promotion, and you never gave a shit about me or what The Foundation was doing. You don’t get to care now!”

“I am just doing what I think would be the best scenario for you. Since humanity is coming to an end, it would be wrong of me to deny you of a chance to finally see a dream come true.”

“What about the greater good? What happened to that?”

“This is for the greater good,” Gears argued, “All people are found with an anomalous disease that will cause them unbearable suffering. We wish to alleviate them from that pain before the disease takes hold and causes the suffering.”

Iceberg stayed silent for a few moments. His eyebrows seemed to be narrowed, fist clenched, all indicating rage.

“If you would rather allocate your time elsewhere so be it. I realized I wasn’t a very good mentor to you, with my current condition. I will grant you your last wishes before death to the best of my abilities.”

“Bullshit.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, Bull. Shit.”

“If you don’t want to accept my --”

“I can tell when the O5 Council is fucking around with you, Gears! Apparently I’m more of a genius than you since even I can tell when the O5 Council are pulling a you!”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they’re doing the ‘I’m so logical look at my completely flawed reasoning I can deliver in a monotone voice and do my bidding and later I take a shower and realize slowly that you were bullshitting me from the start!’”

Gears didn’t reply, which caused Iceberg to roll his eyes dramatically. “Why do I work for you when I clearly understand more than you?”

“Dr. Iceberg, please lower --”

“They want you to do the dirty work because you’ve always done the dirty work. That’s why they wanted me to become another one of you so badly, so they can have more robotic workers that do their bidding. You, what? Don’t have kids? A wife? Friends?”

“Dr. Iceberg --”

“Tell them to do their work on their own. Humanity is literally ending. If you want to spend your last moments doing this project, go ahead, but I doubt it’s what you want to do.”

Gears was slightly surprised that Iceberg was this insistent on his point. He honestly thought Iceberg would have just taken the promotion.

“Would you take the promotion if I were to take the position?”

Iceberg wasn’t expecting that question. “I… yes. Of course. I also don’t have a life, see this Foundation logo?” He points to the Foundation logo on his lab coat.

Gears nodded solemnly. It seemed they were at a standstill, with both of them not knowing what they wanted or what the other wanted. 

Of course, Iceberg was the first to break the silence. 

“We shouldn’t do this.”

Gears didn’t say anything.

“I mean, there’s got to be a way right? To cure the illness? We have so many anomalies, and not a single one can help?”

“The O5 Council and the Ethics Committee have decided on what is best.”

“Ethics Committee? What a joke. C’mon Gears, there’s gotta be some way outta this. Or we’ll have to discover a way.” Iceberg looked at him with ambitious eyes. Gears really saw his former self in those eyes.

_ What do I want? _

_ Nothing, really. I haven't wanted anything in a long time.  _

_ But that’s not true, now was it? _ Gears thought in a rare bit of self reflection.  _ I can feel. I don’t show it. I’m stuck in myself and I am unhappily content with it. _

He looks back at Iceberg, face still adamant about his proposal. 

_ What do I want? _

_ Let’s review the facts and start with what you can still feel. I care for my assistant. I don’t want him to die, but I’d rather not let him succumb to this deadly disease either. I want my assistant to have a good life. _

_ I like my work. I like knowing that humanity has a higher chance of survival from my work. I want to continue my work. _

That was it. Two things.

_ That’s not true,  _ he thinks reluctantly,  _ you still fear your father. _

He wanted to reject the voice but he reviewed over the evidence and knew it was true. His father’s chilling voice. The command he always had over him. Always looking with rightful disdain at his work until it was perfect because millions of people depend on him.

_ I want to make my father happy. _

He looked back at Iceberg. Cold, warm Iceberg, with an expressive, snarky attitude he wished sometimes he can fire him for. Ambition in his eyes barely dulled down by the everyday grind of The Foundation. The only assistant that stayed with him for more than a year, and now over five.

_ It’s time to make a choice. _

Gears clasped his hands. “Julian.”

Iceberg refused to gulp. Even if he knew Gears’s decision from one word.

The phone suddenly rang and made the atmosphere tenser. Gears slowly and methodically picked up the phone.

“This is Dr. Gears, Site 19.”

“Gears, buddy!”

“Jack?”

“That’s the name, don’t wear it out! Listen, I got a proposition for ya…”


End file.
